Linger
by A. M. Brossart
Summary: *ON HOLD* At the start of the Fourth Age, four elves are faced with a decision: Do they stay in Middle-earth or do they sail to the West? Before the last ship sails, Elladan, Elrohir, Edenost, and young Miri go on one last adventure through Middle-earth.
1. Prologue

**Hey, thanks for checking out this story! Since Elladan and Elrohir were such popular characters in my other Lord of the Rings fanfic, I decided to give them their own story. Now, I'm not entirely sure if I'm going to keep this, so we'll just see how it goes. **

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**Prologue**

The wind howled in the cold, restless night. Shivering beneath layers of fur, ten men sat huddled around the fire, singing songs and swapping stories of travels past. Their bones were cold, but their hearts were warm. On the High Pass, elves, men, and dwarves alike would come together as brothers to share a drink and a warm meal with their fellow travelers. The cold had a special way of bringing people together.

"She's really singing tonight, isn't she?" said one man as he took a swig from his leather flask. Sitting back, he gazed at the shadowy mountain peaks with a deep respect. "Hard and unforgiving she is, but there's no other like her."

"You speak as though she is your lover, Raunion." The men's laughter echoed through the air like thunder.

"The best I ever had," replied Raunion with a grin. "For twenty years, I have fought with her and loved her all the same. At times she is my greatest enemy, pushing me to the point of death, but then she rewards me with some of the most beautiful sights I've seen. She is old, and she is wise, and she demands respect, by elves and men alike."

The men were silent, reflecting deeply on Raunion's words.

"You need a wife," interrupted one man, and then they started laughing again. "Pass the meat! Bring the wine! Let us honor this mountain so fair and fine!"

Honor her they did. Beneath the pale moonlight, the men feasted for hours, filling their stomachs and lifting their spirits. As luck would have it, one of the travelers was a very talented flutist, and upon request he hopped to his feet and played a delightful tune that made everyone sing and clap along to the music.

It was a very merry celebration, one that they would talk about for many years to come, but one man—a young boy by the look of him, with a face as smooth as a newborn babe's—was in no celebrating mood. While everyone around him laughed and sang, he sat in silence.

"You, boy," said Raunion to the young man from across the fire. "What is your name?"

"Edric," he answered quietly, "after my father."

"A very good name, strong as you I'm sure. What brings you, Edric, to this perilous mountain pass that so few dare to cross? Fetching milk for your mother?" He received a fierce glare for that remark, forcing Raunion to mend his words immediately. "No, certainly not. What brings you, Edric?"

"I'd rather not say."

"A personal quest, eh? And where will this quest bring you?"

The boy opened his mouth to speak but then closed it again and shook his head. "It's foolish."

"If it matters to you, then it is not foolish. Go on, Eddy, tell me of the place your heart longs to see."

"I ... I want to see ... Rivendell." As soon as the words left his mouth and entered the open air, the boy buried his blushing face into the fur of his hood. "It is foolish to dream of such a place, I know. Common men are not welcome among the elves. I am a farmer and the son of a farmer. I have performed no great deeds nor has any man in my family. But still I wish with all my heart to see the Last Homely House East of the Sea."

Raunion went and sat beside the young boy, who was still too embarrassed to show his face. "And meet Lord Elrond, I suppose. 'As noble and fair as an elf-lord,' they say he is, 'as strong as a warrior, as wise as a wizard, as venerable as a king of dwarves, and as kind as summer.' Now, does that sound like someone who would turn you away?"

Slowly, the boy's face inched out his hood like a turtle emerging from its shell. "No, it doesn't."

"The Last Homely House opens its gates to all men: kings, knights, fisherman, and even farmers. When you reach Rivendell, Lord Elrond will welcome you with open arms." Raunion broke off and chuckled to himself. "Of course, the hard part is getting there. The High Pass is very unforgiving, as I'm sure you've noticed."

"I can handle the cold," Edric confidently replied, "and the wind and the snow, too. No storm is too fierce! No night is too cold! I will brave whatever challenge this mountain delivers!"

"Don't tempt the mountain, boy." Raunion spoke calmly but firmly. "You don't want to face her wrath. I believe you are strong. You wouldn't be here if you weren't. But you listen, and you listen well. The cold isn't your only enemy. There are worse things lurking about, hiding in the shadows, waiting, always waiting. They will wait you out, and they will attack when you least expect, so you must always be on your guard."

"What's out there?" Edric asked. "What's lurking in the shadows?"

Again, Raunion cast his eyes to the mountaintops. "Orcs," he said, spitting out the name as if the word itself carried a putrid taste. "This mountain is theirs, and they are fiercely protective of it."

"Orcs," Edric whispered to himself. "My mother used to tell me stories about orcs. Awful creatures, she said, grotesque perversions of nature that are capable of only destruction."

"The stories don't do them justice, I'm afraid. Pray you never cross their path, young Edric. And if you do, run, run as fast as you can and hope it is fast enough." Raunion climbed to his feet. "You should get some sleep, boy. You'll need your strength for the morning's journey."

"Will you come with me?" the boy asked, catching the older man by surprise. "Will you help me reach Rivendell?"

Raunion gave a deep, booming laugh. "Oh, the fair elves of Rivendell would not enjoy the company of a rugged mountain man like me." He combed his fingers through his bushy brown beard, but still it seemed tangled and dirty. "Little better than orcs to them."

Edric frowned. "I guess you're right."

"But I'll see you across the mountain," Raunion went on, making the boy's eyes light up. "You have my word."

Raunion returned to his seat, where he would sit watch for the night while his companions slept. The nine of them were scattered about the snow, bellies full of wine and satisfied smiles on their sleeping faces.

Struggling to fall asleep himself, Edric lay between two snoring men who were twice his size. Sometime in the night, one of them rolled over, and every time he exhaled, he blew his foul breath right in the poor boy's face. Gagging, Edric sat up and wiped his face with his sleeve. "Well, thank you very much," he muttered; then he shook himself awake.

Across the crackling fire, Raunion sat perfectly still with his arms folded over his chest. His eyes were closed and quiet snores were drifting from his open mouth.

Edric shivered in the cold. "Raunion," he whispered. "Raunion, wake up!" but the wind stole his voice.

_I'll keep watch then_, he decided, and so he scooted closer to the fire to keep warm. The High Pass was quiet at this time of night, peaceful, and Edric thought himself a true mountaineer.

_I could get used to this_, he thought as he stared into the starry sky. It seemed so close, like he could reach up with his hand and pluck out one of the stars.

The wind howled again, but with it came a strange noise, like whispers in the dark, speaking in a language he couldn't understand. Edric looked about the campsite with wide, panicked eyes. Around him, the fir trees seemed to bend and reel. Was the wind to blame? Or was it ... something else?

Edric suddenly recalled Raunion's words:

_There are worse things lurking about, hiding in the shadows, waiting, always waiting. They will wait you out, and they will attack when you least expect. _

Edric reached for a torch and dipped the tip into the red-orange flames. "They will attack when you least expect."

But they would not catch Edric off guard.

Armed with only a torch to light his way, Edric strode off toward the trees. With careful eyes, he checked each tree and concluded that it was, in fact, just the wind. At this, he started to relax.

"Look at yourself, Edric, searching for monsters in the dark. Are you a man or a child?"

A lone owl answered his question with a mocking hoot. The fat brown and grey bird stared down at him with its large yellow eyes. "Hoot, hoot," it said again.

"Who asked you?" Edric jokingly replied. "I am not afraid of orcs. Did you hear me? I'll say it again. I am not afraid of orcs or trolls or even dragons. I am a man, and men are not afraid of anything."

Something moved across the borders of his vision, but when Edric turned around, he saw nothing, only trees. By then, the owl had flown off, taking the last of Edric's confidence with it.

"It's just the wind," he said. "The mountain is playing tricks on you. There is nothing in the shadows, nothing at all."

But there was something there. Edric could see it moving behind the tree, peeking its head out every so often. A black figure, as tall as he was, with the broad shoulders of a dwarf. It was watching him, he knew, watching and waiting.

As he stared at this figure, he felt a great presence coming toward him, though he dared not look. It stopped beside him, this presence, casting a great shadow that seemed to consume his own.

With quivering hands, Edric raised the torch high above his head, and the flame went out with a single puff of breath.

Gasping, Edric dropped the torch in the snow and then stumbled backwards. "Orcs!" he cried, turning on his heels and running back to camp. "Orcs! Orcs! We're being attacked!"

Back at camp, the men awoke with a start and immediately reached for the weapons, but it was too late. A pack of orcs, armed with axes, bows, and spears, had descended upon the camp. They brought down man after man with their iron blades and poison arrows.

Soon, only Raunion was left, and he fought with the strength of a hundred men. Wielding his axe, he slayed dozens of orcs, and when he saw young Edric cowering in fear, he shouted, "Run, boy, run! Do as I told you! Run as fast as you can and never look back!" He kept on yelling until a spear through the chest silenced him, and then he sank to the ground.

The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon, painting the sky a deep crimson. Whimpering and panting with exhaustion, Edric ran through the snow. Three times he lost his footing, and on the third, he went tumbling down the slick snowy slope. Upon reaching the bottom, Edric dug himself out of the snow, and then he crawled on his hands and knees to the edge of the mountain cliff.

Far below, he could see a speck of green that was the lush valley of Rivendell, its blue waters sparkling in even the dimmest of light. If he squinted his eyes, he could almost see the Last Homely House. Almost.

A peaceful smile overtook his face. "Rivendell," he whispered, "I've seen you at last."

The boy was still smiling even when he felt the blade on his throat, and then he fell face-first into the snow, as if succumbing to a long, restful slumber.

The orc called Gujarek wiped his dagger clean while peering into the narrow gorge. "Rivendell," he said with a grunt, "home of the elf-scum."

A thought entered his mind then, one that he would never act upon, not without careful preparation.

"Soon," he concluded, and then he sheathed his blade and disappeared from the cliff before the morning light could touch him.


	2. The Last Homely House

**Chapter 1: The Last Homely House**

Lord Elrond stood upon the terrace, taking in the sweet spring air and gazing into the garden below, where his beloved daughter was playing amongst the flowers and the trees. A little darling Arwen was, bright-eyed and curious, wearing a blue dress that billowed behind her as she ran. The sound of her carefree laughter was like music to his ears. Her hair, as black as the night sky, shimmered with the light of the stars even on the darkest of days. She was ten already (though, physically, she looked no older than five), but Lord Elrond fondly remembered when she was just a few days old and she would rest in his arms, curling his long hair around her tiny finger. Now, he could rarely get her to sit still.

Casting aside her shoes, the young elf-maiden bounced and bounded across the grass. "Catch me, Caladwen! Catch me!"

Her older companion struggled behind her. "Oh, my lady, I cannot possibly keep up. Come, let us rest for a while."

The she-elf sat down at the foot of a tree and beckoned the girl to join her. Reluctantly, Arwen abandoned her game and settled down beside Caladwen, resting her head against the elf's round, pregnant belly.

"I can feel her kicking," Arwen said with a soft giggle. "Mother, I can feel her kicking!"

Celebrían, wife of Elrond and Lady of Rivendell, was not far behind. She strolled across the garden with the wind in her silver hair, but she stopped when she noticed her husband watching them from the terrace above.

Smiling gently, she acknowledged him with a wave, and then she kindly said to her daughter, "You should try speaking to her, Arwen."

"Do you think she can hear me?"

"Of course she can. Go on, tell her how excited you are to meet her."

A bright smile spread across the young elf's face, and she pulled her head away and started talking to the unborn elf-child. "Can you hear me, little one? I'm so excited to meet you. We're going to be good friends; I just know we are."

"It will be your job to watch over her, Arwen," Caladwen said, "and guide her. Can you do that?"

Little Arwen nodded. "I'll protect her always," she sincerely promised, and then she laid her head upon Caladwen's lap and closed her eyes.

With a tender hand, Caladwen stroked the child's hair. "Our grandmothers started quite the tradition, I think," she said to Celebrían. "It seems only right to keep it going."

"Yes, I couldn't agree more." Celebrían smiled. "Have you thought of a name yet?"

The dark-haired elf shook her head. "It will come to me when I meet her, I hope. Of course, it is a long-held family tradition to name the child after the father." Her eyes darkened like the sky before a storm. "Though I think they would make an exception for this case, wouldn't you agree?"

"You mustn't think such things, Caladwen. It's bad for the child."

Caladwen turned away, feeling the sting of tears in her cloudy grey eyes. "I hear the whispers, those busy little voices. They always smile when they pass, but I know what they are really thinking."

"Their thoughts do not matter. Only yours do."

"And what if my thoughts are the same as theirs? What then?"

"You must stop this, Caladwen," Celebrían said with worry in her voice. "Think of your child. Smile, if only for your child."

"My smile is only for my child. She is my sole connection to this world. Everything I do, I do for her, and I pray every day that she will be happy and healthy."

At that, Arwen lifted her head from the elf's lap. "Why wouldn't she be happy and healthy?" she asked with an air of innocence that only children possess. "Is she sick?"

"No, dear child," Caladwen reassured her with a smile. "She is perfectly fine. You needn't worry," and then she told the child to go play, and Arwen did so without protest.

Back on the terrace, Lindir arrived with urgent news. "My lord," he interrupted, "you are needed at once."

"Very well."

Lord Elrond stole once last glance at his daughter and then followed the elf to a bedchamber on the other side of the house. There, a young man lay, his brow damp with sweat and his face contorting with pain. From the wound on his side oozed a foul black fluid that stuck to the elf-lord's fingers.

"Poison."

"Orcs attacked his company on the High Pass," Lindir said. "That is the second attack this month." Those of the first, Lindir remembered, were not so fortunate. He had not seen it himself, but he'd heard the report. Ten men were slain, a young boy among them. "They are growing bolder, my lord."

"Yes," Elrond agreed. "We must keep a sharp eye on them to ensure that a tragedy like this does not happen again. But," he tenderly added, "this man has a strong desire to live. He will survive this."

Lindir breathed a sigh of relief. "That is welcome news, my lord."

"Indeed it is," agreed the elf-lord, and then he began to tend to the man's wounds. "By the way," he asked when the question presented itself, "where are my sons?"

"In the archery fields with Glorfindel, my lord."

"Retrieve them for me please."

Lindir nodded. "Right away, my lord."

. . .

Beneath the mid-afternoon sun, two young elf-maidens sat upon the grassy riverbank, giggling and gossiping as they dipped their feet into the cool river water.

Eleniel, the eldest of the two, was considered one of the fairest elves of her generation (though, in truth, she was not even half as fair as Lúthien, the fairest of them all, but few had the courage to tell her that). She was visiting from Lothlórien at the leave of Lady Galadriel, and her arrival caused quite a stir among the boys her age.

"She has the sun in her hair," they claimed upon seeing her, "and the stars in her eyes." But in exchange for their heartfelt compliments, they received not a word from the fair Eleniel. One by one, they were all defeated with a single penetrative glance.

"Shall we return to Lothlórien soon?" asked the plain elf in her company. "I miss it terribly."

"As do I," agreed Eleniel as she basked in the warm sunlight, "but I should like to stay for the birth. Caladwen is my cousin, after all, and it would be rude to miss such an important event in her life. She should be surrounded by family when the time comes."

Her friend spoke without thinking. "But I thought your family wanted nothing to do with her after what she did."

"Hush now, Anira. You mustn't speak of that, not even in private. If Lady Celebrían should hear you ..." She clasped her hand over her mouth and glanced about in a panic. "No, we will not speak of it."

"Forgive me. I wasn't thinking."

"But," Eleniel went on with a girlish sigh, "it's awfully romantic, don't you think? Tragic, yet romantic. I'm almost envious of her. I hope to find a love like that one day, to find a man who would be willing to risk his life for me."

"A man like Edenost?"

Eleniel flinched upon hearing his name. "Edenost? Why would you bring him up so suddenly?"

"Because he's right over there," her friend replied, prompting both girls to turn and stare fixedly at the peculiar elf who was standing just down the riverbank. When he caught their gaze, he gave an awkward wave and a crooked smile.

"How long has he been there?" Eleniel asked, managing a wave back with just the tips of her fingers.

"I haven't the slightest idea."

"He has a talent for that, sneaking up on people. It's horribly unsettling when you think about it. I never know when he's lurking about. And he has such an aggressive manner. Sometimes I feel like he's hunting me."

Just when it seemed like he was about to approach them (and by then the girls would have surely fled), Elrohir, the youngest of Lord Elrond's twin sons, snuck up behind the unsuspecting elf and shoved him forward. There was a loud shriek, a big splash, and then Edenost broke the surface, spitting a fountain of water from his mouth.

Back on the bank, his cheery-faced attacker was snorting and sniggering until his sides hurt. "How is the water, Edenost?" Elrohir asked. "A bit chilly, isn't it?"

"A bit," Edenost replied, and then he swam to the river's edge and climbed onto the bank.

Like a pair of clucking hens, the two maidens hurried over to the two boys, squawking and squealing with excitement. They brushed past Edenost, who was dripping wet and dumping water out of his boots, and went straight Elrohir.

"Oh, Elrohir, you are so cruel to your friends," Eleniel playfully teased as she gazed up at the elf with clear, unwavering eyes. "Only the bravest of elves can withstand your torment. I can only imagine the sort of suffering you have in store for your future bride." Her pale cheeks flushed, and she turned away in embarrassment. "Oh, silly me! Of course you would not think of such trivial things yet. Once again, my romantic heart has persuaded me to speak without thinking."

Smiling coyly, the she-elf glanced over her shoulder, but her smile faded as she soon as she realized that her intended had left. He was strolling down the riverbank with his friend, denying her even the briefest farewell.

Eleniel's jaw dropped. "Elrohir? Elrohir? _Elrohir!_"

The fair maiden's voice pierced through the air like the grating caw of a crow. Young Elladan could hear it all the way from the archery fields, prompting him to lower his bow and ask his elf-mentor, "What is that awful noise?"

"I couldn't tell you, Elladan, but someone really should put that poor creature out of its misery. Now, try once more, and be sure to follow through with your shot. You released a bit too early the last time. Relax and focus."

Settling back into his stance, Elladan nocked a second arrow, drew back his bowstring, and then fired at the wooden target. Thwack! The arrow pierced the very center of the target.

"Aha! Well done, Elladan," Glorfindel praised. "You're a natural."

"Anyone can shoot at a stationary target," Elrohir interjected as he and Edenost approached the two elves. "The orcs won't stand still and wait for him to aim. Let's see how well he shoots from horseback, and then I'll call him a natural."

"You're late, Elrohir," Glorfindel said with a stern glare. "You were supposed to be here an hour ago."

Elrohir shrugged. "I figured I'd give my brother some extra time to practice," he replied with a smirk, and then he nudged Elladan's shoulder with his fist and quipped, "He needs all the help he can get."

"So show us your skills, Brother," Elladan said as he placed the bow into his brother's overconfident hands. "I believe I have yet to see you string a bow let alone shoot one. Do you even know where to place the arrow?"

Elrohir's mouth twisted into a sneer. "I know where to put it!" he fired back, and then he snatched an arrow from the quiver on the ground. Clumsily, he placed the shaft on the rest and nocked the arrow. Once he was finished, he grinned and declared, "Allow me to show you how a true archer shoots."

Glorfindel stood beside the boy, ready to advise him. "Feet shoulder-width apart. Stand up straighter, Elrohir, in firm yet comfortable stance."

The young elf let out an annoyed huff. "Save your advice for an elf who needs it! I know how to shoot."

Keeping his feet where they were, Elrohir carelessly raised his bow and fired at the target. Much to his brother's surprise (and even his own), Elrohir's arrow landed just outside of the center circle.

"Ha! See? What did I tell you? No training needed. I'm a natural."

But Glorfindel was not so impressed. "Yes, it was a fair shot for your first try, but if you had actually practiced, I bet you would have hit the very center. You have great potential Elrohir, but you need to refine your technique. Despite what you may think, you cannot rely on natural talent alone. You need to work at it every day. Only then will you improve."

"But I don't have time for all that! I'm tired of all your training! You teach us how to stand and how to breathe, but you teach us nothing of battle. We have yet to even leave the vale. I'm ready—I know I'm ready. I'm strong, and I can fight. I can defend this land as you do. All I need is the opportunity to prove myself."

"Your eagerness alone proves that you are not ready. You are still too young, Elrohir. You do not yet understand what it means to take a life. Wait a few years, practice, and then I will take you with me on a hunt but not before. Now, if you are willing to put forth the effort, I will train you."

"Who needs your training?" Elrohir spat. "I'll do just fine on my own," and then he chucked the bow into the dirt and stormed off into the wood.

"Elrohir!" Elladan called. "Elrohir, come back!"

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**Thanks for reading! Please review!**


	3. Quarrels and Qualms

**Chapter 2: Quarrels and Qualms **

Cursing under his breath and kicking the dirt, Elrohir stormed through quiet wood like a violent hurricane. Even the songbirds, perched safely upon the branches, stopping their singing and flew away when he passed.

"Not ready, he says! _Not ready!_ I'm nearly fifty years old, for goodness sake!"

Seeking a tree for comfort, as he often did, Elrohir grabbed a low-hanging branch and swung himself onto the tree's sturdy limbs, where he sat for a long while and rested his troubled mind. Occasionally, he would pluck a green leaf off the branch and send it soaring through the wind, watching with great delight as it sailed beyond the wood. It calmed him, in a sense.

"What's this?" his brother asked from below. "Are you a boy or a bird?"

Elrohir grunted. "Neither. I am a fool."

Elladan laughed. "You're too hard on yourself. You were doing very well until your temper got the better of you. But Glorfindel was right, and deep down you know that. You have all these dreams, Elrohir, yet you are not willing to work for them. Honestly, how can you expect to accomplish anything?"

Elrohir rolled his eyes. "My goodness, you grow more like Glorfindel by the day."

"And you grow more like a child," his brother replied with a smirk.

Snarling, Elrohir leapt down from the tree and tackled Elladan to the ground, where the twins promptly began to wrestle for dominance. Rolling and rolling, over and under, the two knotted themselves into a dirty ball of tangled appendages. Somehow, Elrohir managed to wriggle free and snatch a fallen tree branch to wield like a sword.

"You may best me in archery, Brother," Elrohir said, "but you cannot defeat me with a blade."

"We'll see about that."

Quick as a flash of lightening, Elladan grabbed a branch of his own and charged his younger twin. With the first clack of their wooden swords, the battle had begun, and it would not end until one of them was lying face-down in the dirt.

Elrohir was as limber as a young sapling, strong and swift. He evaded all of his brother's attacks with ease and countered each one of them with a strike of great force, using a sharp, vertical hacking motion.

"Chopping wood, Brother?" Elladan teased as he dodged his brother's blows with a simple side-step. "Is that an axe you wield or a sword?"

"Axe or sword, I can still defeat you!"

Up a high hill they went, delivering strike after strike, matching parry for parry, thrust for thrust. Sometime during the fight, Edenost arrived to bring peace. He wedged himself between the quarreling twins and spread out his arms at either side, forcing the brothers to temporarily lower their weapons and listen to their friend's wisdom.

"You are brothers," Edenost pleaded. "Declare a truce and stop the violence. Surely, there are others ways to settle whatever argument has torn you apart. Let's put down the sticks and discuss this like civilized elves."

"An argument requires two parties," answered Elladan. "Clearly, I'm fighting myself, as Elrohir has yet to land a single blow."

Elrohir's eyes set fire. Raising his sword high above his head, he charged his brother at full speed. When Edenost attempted to intervene (a rather silly thing to do, in hindsight) Elrohir roughly knocked him aside and sent the elf tumbling down the other side of the hill. Head over heels, yelping and yapping, Edenost crashed into a briar patch and became ensnared by its sharp thorns.

The brothers didn't even notice.

"Admit it," said Elladan, panting with exhaustion, "right now you're wishing you hadn't skipped all of Glorfindel's training sessions."

"I don't need his training!" cried Elrohir at the top of his lungs.

Elladan rolled his eyes. "Okay, I've had enough of this."

Without warning, Elrohir suddenly found himself lying face-down on the ground with no recollection of how he'd gotten there. His wooden sword, now snapped cleanly in two, had landed a few feet away. No matter how far he stretched, he couldn't reach it.

"You cheated," Elrohir grumbled into the dirt. "How did you do that?"

Elladan smirked. "If you want to know, seek out Glorfindel."

Unbeknownst to them, Lindir had entered the wood with news from their lord father. At the bottom of the hill he stood, watching their childish fight with cold, condemning eyes. As Lord Elrond's sons, Elladan and Elrohir represented his legacy. With such antics, they were doing the honorable elf-lord a great disservice, in Lindir's most humble opinion.

Once they'd finished, Lindir announced his presence by clearing his throat. The sound was like a siren to the twins' ears. Quickly, Elrohir scrambled to his feet while Elladan tossed the tree branch over his shoulder and settled into the proper stance: shoulders back, chest out, arms folded neatly behind his back. Elrohir, on the other hand, preferred to stick with his natural, slouched posture.

"Lord Elrond sends for you," said Lindir. "He is waiting in his private chambers. Do not dawdle, young lords." With a bow of his head, he then took his leave.

"If he sent Lindir," said Elrohir, "it must be important."

"Then we'd best not keep him waiting."

And so the twins set off toward the house, unintentionally abandoning their dear childhood friend, who remained trapped in the thorny bush. Again and again, Edenost called to them, but his cries went unanswered.

. . .

Within the Hall of Fire, Arwen lay sprawled out across the stone floor, forcing passers-by to step over the elf-child as they went about their business. When Glorfindel walked by, he almost missed her entirely. If not for her heavy sigh, he would have surely trampled the dear child.

"Arwen," he said to her, "what are you doing on the ground? Is this another one of your protests?"

Every elf in Rivendell remembered the time young Arwen spent an entire day in silence because her father refused to let her accompany Lady Celebrían over the Misty Mountains. The mountains were too dangerous for such a young child, they told her, and then she said not a word for the rest of the day. If not for Elrohir's jokes and tricks, she may have never spoken again.

"No," Arwen answered, "I'm just waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"For Caladwen. She went to lie down, said she was feeling faint all of a sudden. I wanted to lie down with her, but Mother said I had to wait because Caladwen needs her rest. She always needs to rest. Every day, for no reason at all, she feels tired."

"I see," replied Glorfindel.

"Why does she get so tired?" Arwen asked. "I can run for hours and hours without stopping, and so can Elladan and Elrohir—and even Father if he wanted to, though he never wants to anymore. He's too busy for play. But Caladwen's not busy, so why does she need to rest so often?"

Glorfindel found himself without words. "It is complicated."

Arwen nodded. "That's what Mother said, too."

"Do not let it trouble you, child. Think only good thoughts, okay? Everything will be all right. Now, how about we get you off that hard floor and go treat ourselves to some lemon cakes?"

At once, Arwen pulled herself up to a sitting position. "But Father says those are for after supper."

"Are you going to tell your father? "

Arwen shook her head. "No."

"Then there's nothing stopping us, is there?"

Slowly, Arwen's lips curled into a wicked grin.

Stepping back, Glorfindel offered her his hand, and Arwen accepted it without hesitation. Together, the two made their way to the kitchens and feasted on lemon cakes and fruit tarts until their supper was thoroughly spoiled.

Elrohir had a cake of his own. He'd snatched it off the table when the cook wasn't looking. It was hot in his hand and even hotter in his mouth, but he managed to get it down. With a face full of crumbs, he entered his father's private chambers with his brother.

Lord Elrond noticed the crumbs straight away—and the dirt and grass stains which covered both his young sons—but he said nothing about it. He had more important matters to discuss, after all.

"You sent for us, Father," Elladan said, trying his best to brush away the dirt from his tunic sleeve. Bits of brown sprinkled onto the floor which had just been cleaned. Elladan noticed this right away and tried to hide the evidence with his foot.

Elrohir made no attempt to groom himself. Instead, he wore his filth with honor.

"Is this about the orcs?" he asked. "Have they declared war? Will there be a battle? If so, I'm ready to fight for my family."

"Your enthusiasm is most comforting," replied Lord Elrond, "but no, Elrohir, that is not why I've sent for you. No, I've called you here because we must—Now who is that lurking in the doorway? Present yourself at once."

Slowly, Edenost poked his head into the room. "Edenost, my lord. Forgive me for interrupting. I did not mean to eavesdrop."

"You're forgiven. What on earth happened to you? Were you in a battle?"

The young elf's clothes were torn and his face covered with scratches, but his spirit certainly hadn't dimmed. He said with a cheerful smile, "No, my lord. I fell into a thicket where I struggled for some time. The thorns were sharp, but I am unhurt, I assure you."

"Well, that is good news."

"Yes. If you'll excuse me, I'll show myself out now. A thousand pardons."

"Wait, Edenost," said Lord Elrond, stopping the boy immediately. "Come here for a moment."

Hanging his head, Edenost shuffled his feet across the floor and timidly approached his lord. "Yes, my lord?"

With a wave of his slender fingers, Lord Elrond drew the elf closer and then spoke loud enough for only his ears:

"I've received some complaints from the visiting young women. They say you have been peeping on them while they wash in the bathing pool. Is that true?"

Edenost kept his eyes fixed firmly to the floor, but he couldn't stop the red from spreading across his cheeks and revealing his guilt.

Lord Elrond sighed. "Edenost, I understand that you are young and ... eager, but it would be wise to practice a little more self-control in the future. Your aggressive tactics may have an undesirable effect on the woman you are pursuing. Do you understand what I am trying to say?"

"Yes, my lord. Forgive me, my lord."

Lord Elrond placed a firm yet comforting hand on the elf's shoulder. "Take care, Edenost. And take a bath."

"Yes, my lord," replied Edenost with a bashful smile, and then he scurried out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Lord Elrond took a moment to gather his thoughts. "My sons," he went on, speaking directly to the twins, whose attention had already started to wane. Elladan was furiously dusting off his tunic, and Elrohir was picking his teeth clean with the tip of his tongue. It was quite a sight for the venerable lord to behold.

"My sons," repeated Lord Elrond, louder this time to capture their full attention. "You know the blood of the half-elven flows through your veins, just as it does mine. And you know that with that blood comes a very important decision. One day, sooner than you think, you will have to decide if you want to sail to the West with the rest of your kin or remain in Middle-earth ... as men."

"Well, it's not really much of a decision," interrupted Elrohir as he took a bold step forward. "Why would any elf choose to live a mortal life? Men, they grow old, they get sick, and they die. Why would anybody choose such a life?"

"Are you quite finished?" asked Lord Elrond, his voice thick with frustration.

Elrohir retreated. "Yes, Father."

"Thankfully," Lord Elrond went on, "that choice is not yet upon you, but when the time comes, whatever choice you make, it must be for you and you alone. You must not think of me, your mother, or even each other. This is the most important decision you will ever make. It will forever change your fate. Think carefully on it."

Think on it they would. Upon hearing those words, Elladan and Elrohir looked first at each other and then at their lord father. "Yes, Father," they said in unison. "We will."

Lord Elrond smiled. "Good. That is all, my sons. You may leave now."

Elrohir was the first to turn and leave, but when his older brother tried to follow suit, he was stopped by Lord Elrond, who asked him to stay behind. "There's something else I'd like to discuss with you, Elladan," the elf-lord explained.

Having just been cast aside, Elrohir stood outside and listened through the door. As suspected, he was at the center of their conversation. He always was.

"He is stubborn, self-assured, and highly impulsive," he heard his father say. "He needs guidance, Elladan."

"Guidance," Elrohir spitefully muttered.

"Elrohir, what are you doing?" asked Lady Celebrían as she approached her son from behind. "You know better than to eavesdrop."

"I'm a constant disappointment to him," Elrohir said, his lips twisting into a sneer. "Clearly, he favors Elladan."

"Then I must favor you," replied his mother, and then she took his face in her hands and placed a gentle kiss upon his forehead.

Finally, Elrohir started to relax.

"Your father loves you both equally, Elrohir. Deep down, you know that. He only wants to see you succeed."

"I know," he grumbled back.

Smiling gently, his mother pulled him in for another kiss, but this time Elrohir squirmed out of her grasp.

"What's this?" said Lady Celebrían. "Already, you're too old for your mother's kisses?"

"I'm practically a man now, and so I must do away with childish things."

"Yes, you are becoming a man," she relented, "but to me, you will always be my child. So humor your poor mother and let me coddle you with affection every so often. I promise it will not spoil your reputation."

Despite his best efforts to hide it, a smile soon overtook his face. "Okay, Mother."

Suddenly, little Arwen came running down the hall at full speed. "She's arrived!" she shouted to every elf she passed. "She's arrived! She's arrived!" And when she reached her brother and mother, she said with an excited grin, "The baby has arrived!"


	4. A New Life

**Chapter 3: A New Life **

Cheeks flushed and forehead glistening with sweat, Caladwen lay upon a soft feather bed, surrounded by her dearest friends and family, as well as those who simply wanted the attention—elves like Eleniel, who incessantly reminded everyone of the blood relation she shared with the new mother.

"What a blessed day, Cousin," she would say loud enough for all to hear. Of course, when asked if she wanted to hold the newborn, she politely refused: "With my dainty little fingers, I would likely drop her on her head."

From her bed, Caladwen watched the group of them fawn over her baby. A tiny bundle of white cloth to her eyes, nothing more. Slowly, she lifted her hands and reached for her child, longing to feel her warmth for the first time.

"My child," she rasped. "Let me hold my child."

The two nurses exchanged worried looks. "Are you sure you have the strength?" one asked in a gentle voice. "Perhaps you should wait until you've rested."

"Give me my child!" Caladwen demanded, but still the nurses refused her, for the sake of the child. Desperately, Caladwen turned to her friend for help. "Please," she said to Celebrían. "I just want to see my baby, even if it's just for a moment. I know I have the strength."

Lady Celebrían nodded. "Every mother has a right to hold her child. Do as she asks."

Hesitantly, the nurse came forward and placed the bundle in Caladwen's waiting arms. At once, her face came aglow with maternal warmth as she held her daughter close to her breast and whispered words of love. Tiny hands, soft as flower petals, came up to greet her. Delicate fingers intermingled with hers. Skin to skin, heart to heart, mother and daughter came together as one.

But as soon as the newborn opened her sparkling blue eyes, Caladwen let out a frightful gasp and pushed the child away.

"Those eyes!" she shrieked as her whole body trembled uncontrollably. "Those eyes!"

An awful noise erupted from the child's mouth, a noise which had come from no elf-babe before her. Sounds of her cries echoed throughout the estate and forced Arwen to shield her sensitive ears.

"What's happening?" she asked her mother. "What's wrong with her?"

In response, Celebrían took the child and consoled her. "She's all right," she said to everyone, and then she smiled down at the baby in her arms.

Fair-skinned and rosy-cheeked she was, with wisps of soft, golden hair atop her head. Her eyes, now drifting closed, were as blue as the shimmering waters of the Great Sea.

"Oh, she's beautiful," Celebrían couldn't help but say, but her words went unheard by Caladwen, who'd already fallen into a deep sleep. "Let her sleep," she told everyone in the room. "She will feel better tomorrow."

"And the child?" asked the nurses.

"I will care for her. You needn't worry."

"Yes, my lady."

Once everyone had left the room, little Arwen ran to her mother and started tugging on her skirt. "Can I hold her now? Can I? Can I? Please, I promise I'll be careful!"

"Not now, Arwen. Come, let's let Caladwen rest."

And so the two walked out of the bedchamber. Outside, they were most surprised to find Elladan and Elrohir standing in the hall. The twins had lacked the courage to enter the room themselves, so they decided to wait outside and peek into the room when nobody was looking. If ever one of the women glanced their way, the boys would quickly pull back and pretend to be doing something else. Of course, all the women knew what they were really doing. They just didn't want to be the only men in the room. The pride of young men, what a curse it was.

"Elrohir," Lady Celebrían asked her son, "would you like to hold her?"

Elrohir lurched back, shaking his head. "Me? Goodness, no!"

"Elrohir, there is no shame in holding a child. Your father held you both many times, and nobody thinks any less of him. Come, hold out your arms. – Yes, just like that."

The young elf went as rigid as a statue once his mother placed the tiny bundle in his arms. Eyes widening, he asked her, "What do I do now? What if she starts crying again? What do I ...?"

His quivering lips fell silent as he gazed down at the sleeping baby in his arms. In all his life, he'd never seen anything so fragile. He feared his own breathing might somehow disturb her peaceful slumber.

"Wow, Elrohir," quipped Elladan with a smirk, "you're a natural mother," and then he stifled a laugh with his fist.

"I am not!" shouted Elrohir, his cheeks burning bright red.

The elf's booming voice woke the baby, and she started to cry at the top of her tiny lungs. At once, Elrohir pushed the baby back into his mother's arms.

"It wasn't my fault! Elladan started it!"

Arwen already had her hands clamped firmly over her ears. "You both behave like children!" she yelled over the deafening noise. "Honestly, when will you start to act your age? You're nearly fifty years old, for goodness sake!"

"Who asked you?" Elrohir fired back with a fierce glare.

"That is enough, children," said Celebrían in a calm yet commanding voice, silencing all three of them. She stepped forward then, taking the baby with her, and continued down the hall. Little Arwen followed close behind, repeating again and again the only question on her mind.

"Can I hold her now? Please, Mother, can I? I promise I'll be gentle."

"All right, all right. Sit down here and hold out your arms."

When Arwen was ready, Celebrían carefully lowered the baby into her daughter's young, eager arms.

"She's so tiny," Arwen said with a giggle, prompting the elf-babe to open her eyes and stare curiously at the older elf-child.

"Hello, little one," Arwen said to her. "My name is Arwen, and ... Oh, Mother, she doesn't have a name yet."

"Not yet, but she will."

Arwen's brow furrowed with frustration.

"Miri," she decided. "Until her mother names her, I'm going to call her Miri." Then she smiled down at the baby. "You and I are going to be great friends, Miri, and I will look after you always."


	5. A Most Peculiar Elf

**Chapter 4: A Most Peculiar Elf **

The seasons passed as they always did, slowly for men but swiftly for elves. Before Lord Elrond knew it, they were celebrating Arwen's twentieth birthday. Although still small in body (and a child to the eyes of men), one could easily see the beginnings of a fair elf, perhaps one of the fairest of all.

But young Arwen cared little about her appearance. Instead, she focused her sharpening mind on new games and stories, which she delightfully shared with Miri, her dearest friend, who followed her like a shadow. Arwen thought of her like a little sister, but outside eyes would never mistake them for such. In fact, they didn't even seem to share the same race.

Now, little Miri (or Mirima, as her mother named her) was not unattractive by any means. Indeed, with her golden hair and shimmering blue eyes, she would be considered very beautiful among men. But among elves she was plain and, frankly, quite queer. Her features were pleasant enough, soft and delicate. Her manner was agreeable and unassuming. But her eyes, while very beautiful, lacked the luster and brilliance of the common elf's; and her hair, while soft, seemed rather dull and lifeless on her shoulders.

As most put it, "Her light is too dim."

Nobody said anything to the child, of course, and they treated her no differently than any other elf-child. But they couldn't help but whisper as she passed and wonder what had happened to make her so. Was it a sickness? Was she dying? Perhaps it was nothing it all. Most, however, believed it had something to do with her mother, Caladwen, and the unusual nature of the child's birth.

Still, in spite of all that, Miri was a happy child who spent her days laughing and playing with her best friend.

"Hurry, Miri!" called Arwen as she dashed down the hall, dodging and ducking underneath passing elves. With light, springy steps, she bounded over the bannister and landed seamlessly on the ground-floor.

"Come, Miri!" she yelled over her shoulder, and then she took off running once more.

"Wait for me!" Miri cried "Wait for me!"

The timid ten-year-old scuttled toward the bannister. Instead of jumping, she carefully climbed over the edge and shimmied her way down the giant stone column: little by little, lower and lower, until she reached the bottom.

"Wait for me! Wait for me!"

Through the garden they ran, giggling the entire time. Arwen led the way while Miri struggled to keep up. Somehow, Arwen was always ten steps ahead, even at her slowest.

"You're going too fast," Miri kept saying, but Arwen couldn't hear her, so she just kept running as she huffed and puffed from exhaustion. Her little heart was beating so fast she feared it might burst.

"Arwen, wait! Arwen, I can't—I can't keep up!"

All of a sudden, Miri found herself gasping for breath. Her legs gave out and tangled beneath her, bringing her to the ground with a hard thud.

Further ahead, Arwen was standing around and wondering what had happened to her friend. Five minutes she waited, and then she ran back to find her. As soon as she saw Miri lying on the ground, Arwen's eyes widened.

"Miri!" she cried as she rushed over to help her friend. "I'm sorry, Miri. I'm sorry—I forgot!"

Carefully, she pulled Miri to a sitting position, using her own body as the child's back support. She thought back to what her father had said. He'd told her what to do when Miri had an episode. He'd made her recite it again and again. But now she couldn't remember a word of it.

She could feel Miri's heart pounding. Over and over, the child gasped for air as her chest violently heaved. Her tiny hands clutched Arwen's skirt and balled into fists, tightening and tightening until her hands turned purple.

Arwen started to panic. "Father! Father! Somebody, hurry!"

But nobody came.

"It's okay, Miri. You're going to be okay. You just have to breathe. Breathe with me, okay? _In _and out ... _In _and out ... _In _and out."

As she listened to Arwen's soft, sedating voice, the child's grip on Arwen's dress gradually loosened and her breathing returned to normal. With a quiet sigh, she relaxed against Arwen's chest and closed her eyes.

"Sorry, Arwen," she whispered.

"You can't help it, Miri. I should have been more careful with you. Father warned me this would happen, but I didn't listen. Maybe we should stop playing for today."

"But I want to play. I want to play like everyone else."

"But you can't, Miri."

"Why? Why can't I play?"

"I don't know. You just can't." The words tasted bitter coming from her mouth. "Come on, we should head back to the house so you can rest."

"No!" Miri yanked herself free of Arwen's grasp and took off running. "No, I don't want to!"

"Miri!" Arwen shouted from the ground. "Miri, come back!"

When Miri failed to return, Arwen jumped up and chased after her. It wouldn't take long to find her, Arwen knew, because Miri was the only elf who left such deep imprints when she went anywhere.

Arwen followed Miri's footprints all the way to the riverbank, where the child was lying among the tall grasses. If not for her keen eyesight, she might've missed her entirely.

Arwen plopped down beside her. "I'm sorry, Miri."

"I just don't understand ... Why am I so different? Everybody looks at me strangely, like I'm not an elf at all. They put on a smile when I walk by, but I can hear them whispering behind my back. They talk about my mother ... and my father."

"Who is your father?" Arwen interrupted. "Nobody will tell me."

"I wish I knew. Whenever I mention him to Mother, she goes quiet and her eyes fill with pain, but she won't say why. I don't even know his name ... Sometimes I dream about him, though. About what he's like." A smile crept up her face and her eyes began to sparkle. "I bet he's strong like Glorfindel and wise like your father. Yes, I'm sure of it. His face is like mine, and his eyes and hair as well. Mother always says so. She says I look just like him. That's all she says."

"So you don't know where he is?"

Miri shook her head.

"Maybe he's in Aman," Arwen guessed. "Maybe he sailed to the West."

"You think so?"

"He has to be! That's where all the other elves went. I bet he's in Aman waiting for you and your mother."

"Really?" Miri sat up with a start. "Then we should go there! If it will make Mother happy again, we should sail there right away!"

"Now?" Arwen's eyes bulged, and she too rose to a sitting position. "But you can't go now."

Miri frowned. "Why not?"

"Because you just can't. It's too soon. We have to sail there together. Promise me, Miri. Promise me we'll sail to Aman together."

Miri considered her proposal carefully. She desperately wanted to see her father and to make her mother smile again, but if all that came at the cost of Arwen's happiness, then it just wasn't worth it.

"I promise. We'll sail to Aman together."

"Thank you!" Arwen joyously cried, and then she threw her arms around Miri and hugged her tightly. "You won't regret it, Miri. We'll go on adventures together, just like Elladan and Elrohir. We'll go to Fangorn Forest and walk with the ents. We'll go to Mirkwood and dine in Thranduil's Halls. Oh, and we'll visit my grandmother in Lothlórien! I know she'll love you!"

Then a brilliant idea came to her. She had to cover her mouth with her hands to conceal her excitement.

"Miri, you should come with me and Mother on our visit. She said we'll be taking the Redhorn Gate, the coldest and most dangerous pass over the Misty Mountains. It's crawling with orcs and goblins and trolls! I was worried since this will be my first time traveling so far away from home, but I know I won't be scared if you're there. Will you come? Please tell me you will!"

"Across the mountain? Isn't that dangerous?"

"Yes, but we'll have protection. Father is sending some of his best guards, so there's nothing to worry about. We'll be perfectly safe."

"Well, I don't know ..."

"At least think about it. Ask your mother. She can come too! We'll all go together and have a great time! Oh, you'll love Lothlórien, Miri. Mother says it's the most beautiful place in Middle-earth, with trees as big as mountains! That doesn't seem possible to me because mountains are so big and all, but it must be true! And the palace is bright and full of light ..."

As Arwen went on and on about Lothlórien, Miri's attention waned as her eyes traveled across the horizon. Eventually, they found the high peaks of the Misty Mountains. Even from far away, they seemed like giant steel daggers piercing the sky. She shuddered at the sight of them.

_They don't look safe_, Miri thought_, but if Arwen says they are, then I believe her. The mountains are safe, and we'll be just fine._


	6. The Hunt

**Chapter 5: The Hunt **

After years and years of eagerly waiting, the day of Elrohir's first hunt had finally arrived. One spring morning, a messenger came to Lord Elrond's great house with news of an orc sighting near their borders. Upon arrival, he was promptly called into the elf-lord's private chambers, where Lord Elrond was holding a private council with his most trusted allies.

At the elf-lord's request, the messenger delivered his account of the events:

"They are sweeping through moorlands, my lord. Dozens of orcs, riding atop ferocious beasts. They have burned and pillaged every village in their path, sparing neither woman nor child. All this I have seen with my own eyes. If we do not act soon, I fear many more will perish."

Nosy as ever, Elrohir was eavesdropping from outside. His older brother had left him just minutes ago, deeming his actions both childish and intrusive, but Elrohir paid him no mind. He pressed his ear against the oak door and listened carefully for his father's answer.

"And we will respond," said Lord Elrond. "Glorfindel ready your men and prepare to leave at once. And bring my sons with you ... that is, if you think they are ready for such a great responsibility."

"I know Elladan is ready, but Elrohir, I am not so sure. He worries me still."

"I will leave the final decision to you. I have great faith in your judgment, Glorfindel."

"Very well, my lord."

With his keen elf senses, Elrohir felt the door beginning to open, so he backed away and assumed the posture of a perfect solider. This stance he held until Glorfindel walked out of the room and saw him.

"Eavesdropping, were you?" said Glorfindel as he passed the young elf. "I suppose you think I should take you with me on the hunt."

Elrohir followed his elf-mentor down the hall. "Well, yes, it crossed my mind," he answered. "I'm well into my sixtieth year, you know, so I think it's high time for me to take on some responsibility. I'm ready. I know I'm ready. Please, Glorfindel, take me with you. I promise I will not let you down."

The older elf gave it much consideration, but eventually he conceded to the boy.

"Very well, Elrohir," he said. "Ready your arms. Saddle your horse. And fetch your brother, most importantly. This will be an important day for the both of you."

Elrohir nearly leapt out of his leather boots! At last, he would be able to stand against the ugly, vicious creatures known as orcs. At last, he would be able to defend his family and the home he loved so dearly. Now more than ever, he felt like a real man.

"Oh, thank you, Glorfindel," he said. "I promise you will not regret this!"

Grinning from ear to ear, Elrohir rushed off to find his older brother, who was reading in the Hall of Fire, as he often did when he had the time. Like his elf-mentor, he'd come to enjoy the company of books more than people. For hours and hours, he would sit beside the hearth and read silently to himself. Sometimes a bold young elf-maiden would approach and attempt to engage him in conversation, but he would always brush her away with a polite smile. He spent so much time with his nose stuck in a book that he didn't even notice the trail of heartbroken girls he left in his wake.

"It's important to read," Elladan explained when his younger brother arrived. "It sharpens the mind and sooths the spirit. Glorfindel reads up to five books a day sometimes. Such an amazing feat! I myself can read two a day, depending on the length of course."

"Now's not the time for reading, Brother," Elrohir said, and then he snatched the book out of his brother's hands and flung it over his shoulder. It flew, rolling end over end, until it struck an unsuspecting servant on the back of the head and knocked him forward.

"We have been asked to go on a hunt, you and I."

Elladan's grey eyes widened. "A hunt, you say?"

"Yes. Orc raiders are tearing through the land, destroying everything in their path. Glorfindel has been asked to dispatch them, and he has invited us to come along. Elladan, do you realize what this means?"

"Our first hunt has come at last. ... We must prepare our minds for battle. Meditate, Glorfindel always meditates before a battle."

"No, there's no time for that! We're leaving now. Come, gather your arms and ready your horse. There's not a minute to waste!"

And so the two brothers prepared for their departure. In the armory, they sharpened their swords and filled their quivers with arrows. They dawned their fitted breastplates, gauntlets, and helms: lightweight yet strong, and of the finest elvish make. Indeed, the sons of Elrond were well prepared, but they could not leave without a proper send-off. Their mother simply wouldn't allow it.

In the stables she found them. They were busy saddling their horses and boasting of the great battle to come. As always, Elrohir spoke the loudest, but his voice quieted when he saw their fair mother appear, and she had not come alone. With her she brought their little sister, Arwen, and her dear friend, Miri. The two girls trailed behind Lady Celebrían like two chicks following their mother hen.

"I've come to bid you farewell," said Lady Celebrían as she went to Elladan and placed a mother's kiss on his forehead. Afterwards, she went to Elrohir and gave him a kiss of his own. "Today, you leave me as boys, but you will return as men. Stay safe, my sons."

"We will, Mother," Elladan promised, and then he felt a gentle tug on his cloak. When he looked down, he saw his little sister waiting to bid him farewell. With her hand, she beckoned him down to her level, and she too placed a tender kiss on his cheek.

"Stay safe," Arwen said. "Watch over Elrohir. Make sure he doesn't do anything foolish."

"I will. And you keep Mother company while we're away. Make sure she stays in good spirits."

"I will," she promised, and then she ran and jumped right into Elrohir's waiting arms.

In her absence, Elladan heard the quiet shuffle and drag of tiny feet coming toward him. Upon glancing to his left, he saw little Miri standing beside him and nervously twiddling her thumbs. Even while kneeling, he towered over the timid ten-year-old, who was barely three feet tall and thus considered rather short for her age.

"Have you come to say goodbye, too?" Elladan asked with a warm, friendly smile.

Miri nodded.

"Oh, thank goodness! I was worried that you would let me go without a proper goodbye. And a goodbye kiss as well. You see, it's bad luck to leave without a goodbye kiss." He tapped his left cheek with his index finger. "And this cheek of mine is awfully bare."

The child giggled into her hands. After a little more coaxing from Elladan, she rose up onto the tips of her toes and placed a light kiss on Elladan's cheek. When she pulled away, her lips curled into a shy smile and her cheeks flushed as pink as a rosebud. Then, before Elladan could say another word, she scurried off to find Arwen. Together, the two girls raced out of the stables at full speed and nearly collided into Lord Elrond, who smiled and sent them on their way with a gentle pat on their backs.

"My sons," said Lord Elrond, "I've come to bid you farewell and safe journey. Many years I have waited for this day, and in my heart I know you are ready. Make me proud."

"We won't let you down, Father," Elrohir promised. "We'll bring honor to your noble family."

"You already honor my family, Elrohir, by simply being my sons."

The elf-lord's words filled Elrohir's spirit with fire and gave him the strength to battle a thousand orcs. With his head held high and horse in tow, he followed his older brother out of the stables and joined the rest of the company at the great gates of Rivendell. There, among sixteen of Glorfindel's most seasoned warriors, stood young Edenost, grinning like an eager elfling. Somehow, he'd been invited to join the expedition as well.

"Edenost," said Elladan, his mouth agape, "you're coming too?"

"Of course," answered Edenost. "Everyone knows I am the best tracker among us. Eyes of a hawk, I always say, and that is putting it modestly."

"Eyes of a hawk," mocked Elrohir; then he leaned over and whispered to his brother, "The better to leer with."

Edenost shot his friend a stern glance. "I heard that! I never, ever leer. I simply admire from a distance."

"And without their knowledge. I believe the fair maidens would consider that leering. Far and wide, they warn young she-elves of your ever-watchful eyes, Edenost. Perhaps that is why so few visit."

"Or perhaps it is your sharp tongue and short temper that frightens them away. Last summer, one girl said you threatened to use her for target practice."

Elrohir shrugged. "She wouldn't leave me alone."

"That's not very gentlemanlike."

"Well, then I guess I'm not a gentleman, am I? If I am to be a great warrior, Edenost, I cannot waste my energy on girls. It is a never-ending battle that only a fool would fight."

As the young elves bickered back and forth, Glorfindel waited patiently for their silence. Once he had it, the elf-commander announced their departure for all to hear. At his call, the elves of Rivendell gathered to see them off. Arwen and little Miri had to needle their way through the crowd in order to reach the front. The children zigged and they zagged. They ducked and they crawled between legs and under skirts until they at last broke through.

Bouncing up and down, the girls waved and waved until their arms were tired. "Goodbye, Elladan! Goodbye, Elrohir!"

"Goodbye!" yelled Elrohir as he waved back at everyone. "Goodbye!"

At Glorfindel's command, the company departed. On their horses they rode out of the vale and traveled through the vast foothills and moorlands of the Misty Mountains. The journey was long and it was rough, but Elrohir's enthusiasm never waned. While his horse galloped over the hills and across the rocky plains, he stared about the changing landscape in utter fascination.

"Elladan, do you see this?" he asked his brother, and when he received no response, he turned a curious eye upon his twin. "What are you doing?" he asked.

Elladan had his eyes closed, as if he'd fallen into a deep sleep, yet no snores came from his mouth. His head bobbed back and forth to the steady rhythm of his horse's gait. His long brown hair rippled in the cool afternoon breeze. Wild and free. He was no longer with his body. The wind had swept his spirit away and carried it to a faraway place that was beautiful and ever-green, where it could rest until the battle horns called him back.

"You're going fall of your horse," Elrohir warned. "Elladan! _Elladan!_"

Without warning, Elrohir reached over and poked his brother's head with an iron-tipped finger. Four, five, six times he jabbed, jabbed, jabbed. And he stole Elladan from his paradise.

"What is it, Elrohir?" Elladan grumbled as he opened his eyes to the blinding light.

"What were you doing?" his brother asked.

"You interrupted me for that? I was preparing my mind for battle, Elrohir, which is what you should be doing right now. Glorfindel says ..."

Elrohir rolled his eyes. "Oh, not this again! 'Glorfindel says _this_' and 'Glorfindel says _that._' Goodness, don't you have any ideas of your own? Or do you simply regurgitate whatever Glorfindel tells you?"

Elladan sneered. "His wisdom would benefit you, Elrohir, if you would only listen to it."

"I don't need his wisdom."

"Clearly, you do."

"Enough!" said Glorfindel with an impatient grunt. "On a hunt you must be quiet or you will give away our position. The way you talk, the orcs will hear us coming a mile away."

Glorfindel's words silenced the two elves, and Elladan shook his head in disappointment.

"You never listen, Elrohir," he muttered under his breath; then he yelped when he felt his brother's elbow jab into his left side. The unexpected blow knocked him off his horse and sent him face-first into the dirt.

Coughing up a cloud of dust, the elf struggled to his feet and shook a clenched fist at his cruel twin. "Elrohir!" he yelled, but his brother simply laughed and hurried along with the rest of the group.

Glorfindel hung his head and let out a tired sigh. "Elflings ..."

. . .

For three days and three nights, Glorfindel's company tracked the orc pack, following a long trail of death and destruction that made Elrohir sick to his stomach. But he took it all in and swallowed it down because he was a man now, and men often had to witness such horrors.

"I've never seen anything like this," said Edenost as he and the twins maneuvered through the charred remains of the village square. Among the debris, he spotted the singed hand of a small child, and he cast his eyes away. "Such evils shouldn't exist."

"But they do," said Elrohir, seizing his horse's reins with a firm grip. "Come, Edenost. We should not linger here."

Together, they rode away from the village and joined the rest of their company at the top of a grassy hill. The company was waiting for their leader's next command, hanging on every second of his silence.

Glorfindel glared into the far beyond, seeing what no other elf could see. "There," he said. "Just beyond those hills."

Edenost followed his gaze and squinted until his eyelids folded against the apples of his cheeks. "Yes, I see it too."

"No you don't!" Elrohir said, punching his friend's shoulder with a hard fist. "You see nothing. Nothing but specks on the horizon, the same as I."

Glorfindel chuckled. "Do not be discouraged. It takes many years to train your eyes, Elrohir. It is a skill that must be developed as any other." He gave his horse a gentle kick with his heels and broke into a brisk gallop. "Come, we must go now!"

One by one, the elves followed Glorfindel down the hill, but Elrohir stayed behind. Again, he cast his eyes to the horizon and focused his vision. Again, he saw nothing. His eyes had failed him.

"Come, Elrohir!" Elladan called from below. "We're gaining on them!"

Reluctantly, Elrohir abandoned his efforts and hurried to catch up with the rest of the company. They raced tirelessly through the plains, chasing the rising sun and fighting against time. By midday, they reached the ruins of Ost-in-Edhil, the great elven city which collapsed in the Second Age. Now, the orcs had laid their claim upon it. Glorfindel and his company watched them from atop a high neighboring hill.

"What are we waiting for?" asked Elrohir through gritted teeth as he watched them gobble and consume their kills over a roasting fire. A tall column of grey smoke wafted up from the red-orange flames and melted into the clear blue sky.

"Patience, Elrohir," said Glorfindel. "We must be patient." Then he turned and asked his second-in-command, "How many are down there?"

"Forty-five, by the scouts' count."

"And you're certain there are no others?"

The elf nodded. "They searched high and low and found no others. Why? Is something wrong?"

"No, it is just ... something has been troubling me over these past few days. It's strange ... Orcs enjoy their slaughters, yes, but they are mostly cowards and easily scattered. They prefer to stay in their mountains, quarreling amongst themselves. Seldom do they venture into the lands of men and elves."

"Yes, it is unusual but not impossible. It has happened before."

"Yes, before, during the—" Glorfindel bit back his words. "Never mind. It no longer matters."

"Should we precede with the attack, Glorfindel?"

"Yes," Glorfindel decided. "Precede as planned."


End file.
